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mornington-the-crescent · 3 months ago

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Spitfire

Wrote a thing. Read on if you like.

Tabitha Talbot looked up at the ceiling and, after a long moment, thumped her fist against the wall beside her, letting out a frustrated sigh.

She wasn’t entirely sure if she was shit-canned entirely, but after the chewing out she had gotten, after she was told that she was being benched… She was still the rookie, still on probation, and she had screwed up enough that Hyperion had sent her home. She could have gone back to her dorm room to stew, but instead, she had flown back home, to Pennsylvania, to the farm. And so there she was, in her childhood bedroom, lying on her old bed, surrounded by band posters and pictures of her friends and more stuffed animals than would even fit on the bed.

What would she tell her parents when they got home, and found her there, still in her costume? They didn’t know that she was Spitfire. Tabitha closed her eyes and ran her hands over her face, groaning. How would she even start that conversation? “Hi, Mom, hi, Dad; since I left for college, I’ve been moonlighting as a superhero, and I’ve been a probationary member of the Sentinels for the last six months, and I messed up one too many times, and now Hyperion maybe kinda kicked me out, and my enrollment at Rodney was kind of contingent on me being in the Sentinels, so I might have to come back here on a more permanent basis”? Oh, Tim would have a field day with that one, and her dad would have about a million and a half questions.

She could always keep things vague, but still at least somewhat honest. She could say that she might have lost a potentially great internship; that was close enough to the truth, right? She could already picture what her mom would say: That any job that was willing to cut someone like her loose didn’t deserve her anyway; and anyone who didn’t appreciate her talents and appreciate her for who she was, wasn’t the sort of person she should want to work in the first place.

She had to smile at that. The version of her mom who lived in her head was right. A little setback like that wasn’t the end of the world. If she didn’t get to keep her spot at Rodney, who cared? She could find another school. And who cared if she had gotten (possibly maybe perhaps) kicked out of the Sentinels? She still had her powers, she could still be Spitfire if she wanted to. She would be fine.

Tabitha sat up and slid from her bed, already feeling better. She left her room and headed downstairs, toward the kitchen. It was Wednesday, and on Tuesdays, her mother had her book club, which meant that there should be… “Score,” Tabitha said, seeing the container of butter cookies that Mrs. Baxter had left on the counter. Already, things were looking up for her, she thought as she helped herself to one of the cookies.

She felt her pocket buzz, and looked down, reaching in to find her communicator. She had taken it with her when she had left, and she was apparently not cut off from communications yet… She was going to slip it back into her pocket when she saw the notification: “Five-Alarm fire, Fifth and First”. Fifth and First…? That was near where…

The cookie hadn’t even hit the floor by the time Tabitha was out the back door, streaking southward into the sky, leaving a trail of flame in her wake.

—--------------------------------

“Madam Mystery, status report.”

Madam Mystery rolled her eyes, her fingers tracing invisible shapes in the air as she threw up another magical ward, the first one already failing against the constant onslaught of flames bombarding it. The air was thick with smoke and dust, blinding her, choking her, but her fingers were sure.

“The same as it was when you asked me five minutes ago,” she said with a cough, the ward shimmering into existence. Even with the three layers of magic between her and the naked, shrieking figure that was pouring hellfire down on her, she could still feel the heat. The outermost ward failed against the pressure, and she already began to weave another into existence.

“You should have had this handled by now,” came Hyperion’s frustrated voice in her ear.

“Well, I would have, if I could get bloody close enough to do something other than play defense!” she shot back, a sea of flame blasting against her wards, hard enough to push her back a pace.

“Hold your position. I’m coming in. ETA five minutes.” The line went dead, and Madam Mystery cursed under her breath. Hyperion would make an absolute dog’s breakfast of this whole thing, and then he’d belittle her efforts besides. She redoubled her efforts, pushing forward against the wall of fire. A shadow streaked by above her, causing her to glance up.

Spitfire hovered overhead, looking down at the conflagration, the smoke and the flame filling the street. Fires burned out of control, the flame licking at the fronts of buildings, the greenery sizzling, the pavement starting to crack and bubble from the intense heat. She closed her eyes, and reached out, calling silently to the fire.

And the fire answered.

The flames began to flow upward, away from the street, and toward Spitfire, like water circling a drain. The fire flowed into her hands, into her body, the searing hot air making her hair fly out behind her. Cool air rushed in below, further extinguishing the blaze; in a matter of moments, all the fire was gone, the smoldering buildings and trees below steaming and smoking.

Spitfire slowly lowered herself to the ground, the air around her still shimmering with the heat that she had drawn into herself, as she slowly dissipated it outward. The cause of all this destruction, the howling nude figure in the street, threw a great gout of flame at her, but Spitfire didn’t even seem to notice it, the flames breaking around her like a wave against a shore. She strode confidently forward, toward the figure, who kept hurling fire at her, to no effect. Spitfire reached out-

-and drew the figure into a fierce hug, holding her close, tight against her body. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she whispered, again and again, hoping that she was understood. The figure struggled against her grip, howling and shaking, but eventually, the struggles abated, leaving her hanging limply in Spitfire’s arms.

She looked back over her shoulder, to Madam Mystery, who was currently doing her best not to gawp at the sight. “Hey, MM. Give us a little privacy, okay?”

Madam Mystery shook her head quickly, jarring herself from her reverie, and nodded. “Right. Half a mo.” She spun magic in the air around the pair of redheads, encasing them in a column of darkness and silence.

Within the privacy of the column, Spitfire released the other girl, looking at her, her heart swelling with pity and compassion. She looked dirty, disheveled, so afraid and bewildered… Spitfire reached up and slipped off her mask, letting the clone see her face. The clone’s eyes went wide at the sight.

“You know this face, don’t you?” Tabitha said. She reached out and took her clone’s hand, placing it against her cheek, letting her feel it. “You see it in every window, in every puddle. You know this face. You know my voice. You are me. And I am you. I know you must be so frightened, so confused… I’m here to tell you that you don’t need to be afraid anymore. I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you.”

She didn’t think that the clone understood a word that she was saying, but any lingering anger had melted away from her face. Tabitha wasn’t sure if the clone trusted her, or if she even knew how to trust someone, but it was a lot better than what had come before.

She looked back at Madam Mystery, just in time to see another figure descending from the sky above. Tabitha gritted her teeth, and just barely had enough time to re-affix her mask as the column of smoke faded, leaving her face-to-face with Hyperion.

“Spitfire,” came Hyperion’s voice from inside his suit. “I could have sworn I benched you.”

Spitfire turned to face him. “Yeah, well, I unbenched myself,” she said. “This seemed like it was right in my wheelhouse.”

“Yeah, I can see how someone with fire powers ruining everything might seem like it was up your alley,” he responded.

“Oh, shut up,” she spat back. “The fire is contained. Nobody was hurt. I’d call that pretty good.”

Hyperion was silent for a long moment, as if trying to figure out how to acknowledge her point without giving her any credit. “Well, there is still one matter to address,” he said, gesturing behind her, where the clone was cowering slightly. “Seems like you managed to track down the last one of those clones that Swarm made of you. I’ll congratulate you on that, at least. Now we can finish cleaning up yet another mess that you made.” He raised one arm, the weapons in his suit beginning to power up.

Spitfire stepped right in his path, putting herself between him and the clone. “You can’t do that,” she said. “You can’t just kill her.”

“It,” Hyperion retorted. “It’s not a real person. It’s a clone. A clone that was created, might I remind you, by a bad guy.”

“She’s still alive, though! Look at her! She didn’t mean to do any of this; she was just scared and hurt and she lashed out! Just because she didn’t know any better doesn’t mean that she deserves to die!”

Hyperion’s aim didn’t falter, his arm remaining totally steady. “We don’t know what it is capable of,” he said, his voice cold and level. “Who knows what Swarm programmed into its head before it got loose? He was going to create a whole army of them, to do his bidding; how do you know that he’s not controlling it right now? Now, stand aside. I’ll destroy it, and then that will be the end of it.”

Spitfire looked down at the pavement, then back over her shoulder at the clone, seeing her own face staring helplessly back at her. She turned back to Hyperion.

“No.”

Hyperion’s head cocked slightly to the side. “I’m sorry, there must have been a short somewhere in my suit’s audio processors. It almost sounded like you told me ‘no’.”

Spitfire drew herself up, her back straight, her chin set. “I did. I’m not moving.”

“Stand down,” Hyperion growled at her, the beam mounted to his forearm beginning to glow as it powered up.

“YOU stand down, tin man,” she shot back, extending her own arm, flames already swirling around her fingertips, “or I swear I will cook you inside that suit like you were a tin of beans on a campfire.”

Hyperion laughed at that. “You stupid child,” he said. “This suit is hardened to stand temperatures up to three thousand degrees. I doubt even you can make flames that hot.”

Spitfire smiled, small tongues of flame licking at the outsides of her eyes. “You forget how precise I can be: I didn’t say I’d cook the suit; I said I’d cook you in the suit.”

A small warning light appeared on Hyperion’s internal HUD, and an automated voice spoke in his ear: “Warning. Warning. Internal temperatures rising to unsafe levels. Internal climate control systems cannot compensate. Recommend immediate action.”

Hyperion held her gaze for a long moment, then dropped his arm, the weapons systems on his suit shutting down. “Congratulations,” he said. “You passed.”

Spitfire stared at him blankly for several seconds, then blinked. “... what?”

Hyperion nodded. “You passed the test,” he said again, his tone sounding like he was speaking to a small child. “I don’t need people in the Sentinels who just blindly follow orders. I sidelined you, and you ignored that, because you knew it was unfair and unreasonable, and you knew that you could still do some good; and when we needed you, there you were. I acted like I was going to destroy, in your words, someone who was scared and hurt, who was confused and lashed out; and you refused to get out of the way, putting yourself in harm’s way to save someone else. That’s the sort of person that I want working for- working with me.”

Spitfire looked at him, brows furrowed. “... uh-huh,” she said after a long moment.

“Don’t act so confused. You’re in.” Hyperion waved a hand dismissively toward her. “Of course, the clone is your responsibility now. I am officially done dealing with that nonsense, and I want to close the chapter on that whole saga. Take care of it, and then report back to the Sentinel Building to be officially sworn in as a full member.”

Spitfire nodded numbly, then wrapped an arm around the clone’s shoulder, and began to slowly rise into the sky, bringing the clone along with her. Madam Mystery stepped up next to Hyperion, craning her neck upward to watch the pair disappear into the distance. After several long seconds, she spoke. “So… ‘Congratulations, you passed the test’...?” Hyperion glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the skyward figures as they faded from sight. “Don’t you make that fucking face at me right now.”

“I’m certain I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Madam Mystery replied, though the smile was evident in her voice. “Besides, I’m wearing a mask; you couldn’t see even if I were making a face. Which, again, I am not.”

“I have known you for going on a damned decade. I know when you’re making that face.”

“Which one? The ‘It’s almost adorable when you try to save face’ face?” She turned to face him. “Look, it’s a good thing that she’s willing to stand up to you. We need people who are willing to call you out when you’re being a pig-headed git.”

Hyperion scoffed. “As if I ever get any respect from any of you, at any time, ever.”

Madam Mystery shrugged. “I’m not a gambling woman, but were I, I would wager that state of affairs might have something to do with the frequency with which you are, in fact, a pig-headed git.”

“Don’t make me hit you in front of all of these people,” he replied.

Madam Mystery chuckled. “You could try,” she said. “So… Whose turn is it to deal with SPEAR when they finally decide to show up?”

“I think it’s your turn.”

“Oh, bollocks to you,” she retorted. “I got the last two. It’s your bloody turn.”

Hyperion put up his hands. “Look, you get this one, and I’ll owe you one.”

Madam Mystery rolled her eyes. “You owe me more than one. By my count, it’s at least a-” With a sharp cry, she dropped to her knees, clutching the sides of her head.

In an instant, Hyperion had his weapons powered up, and was scanning the area. “What’s going on? Are we under attack? You okay?”

She looked up at him, and shook her head. “It’s Siren,” she said, her voice filled with awe and relief. “She’s alive!”

—-------------------------------------

“Tom, honey, if you’re going to eat the leftover cookies, try not to leave them out on the counter. That’s how we get ants.”

Thomas Talbot leaned into the kitchen, seeing his wife holding up a discarded butter cookie, then grinned. “Wasn’t me,” he said, though he still came in and took the proffered cookie. “Probably Tim. His loss is my gain, though.” He leaned over and gave Tina a kiss on the cheek. “Good as these cookies are, they’re not nearly as sweet as you.” Tina playfully slapped his arm. “Oh, go on, you old flirt,” she said with a giggle. “I’m going to make some coffee, if you want some.”

Thomas shook his head, nibbling on the cookie. “Nah. I can’t have coffee this late in the afternoon. I’d never get to sleep.”

Both looked up at the sound of a knock at the front door, and Thomas called out, “Tim! Mind grabbing the door?” Tim sighed, pushing himself up from the sofa. “I got it, I got it,” he said, heading toward the entryway of the house.

“If it’s those nice Mormon boys again, you can tell them that we’re not interested,” his mother called after him. “Be polite about it.” “Not too polite,” said Thomas with a grin. “Don’t want them getting any ideas.” “Uh, Mom? Dad? You’re gonna want to come here.” Thomas and Tina exchanged a glance, then left the kitchen, heading for the front door, and-

Tabitha gave a little wave to her parents, her arm around the clone of herself. “... Hi,” she said, grinning sheepishly.

After what felt like about an eternity, it was Thomas who broke the silence. “You know what, hon? I think that maybe you should get that pot of coffee started.

(Words by me, art by @flopicas)

#My writing #The Sentinels #Spitfire #Hyperion #Madam Mystery #My OCs

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